What Has Come Between Us

Mister Man and I get along really well, despite the fact that he lured me into his web under false pretenses. (He posed as a gallant food sharer in our early courting days, only to later reveal that he LOATHES sharing food). For example, when we were first dating, he might purchase a little pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey, and he'd perch on the end of his couch with a wee ice-cream spoon and generously offer the first little nibble (and many subsequent nibbles) to me. Generally, he is a good, kind and generous soul. Except when it comes to sharing delicious food items. Once he'd "landed the fish" so-to-speak, he recanted on all of this previous behaviour and began glaring at me when I requested a bite. Every now and then he has even taken to gesturing that he'd sooner stab me with his fork than share a teensy nibble of what's on his plate.

A few weeks back, I had a lovely lunch with Robert (AKA Big Snit), and he brought me a jar of his famous canned peaches. They were delicious. And I even shared them with Mister Man, who went on and on and on about how beautiful and delicious these peaches were (and I have to tell you, he wasn't lying!)

Well the other night, when we were visiting Robert and EB for dinner, Robert whipped out another jar of his famous canned peaches, plunked them down in front of Mister Man and said "these are for you" (meaning of course, "these are for BOTH of you to share").

When we got home, Mister Man started parading about the apartment with the jar of peaches under his arm, announcing that "Robert said that these were for ME." I even caught him napping on the couch with the jar nestled up next to him.

Yes, this is what will come between us gentle reader: a jar of canned peaches.

I had to wrench the jar away from his nibs in order to take this photo. And if you look VERY closely, you'll see himself on the right hand side of the frame, glaring at me.

Little does he know that Robert has promised canning lessons in the late summer. So I'm going to have a "canning-palooza" and buy a bunch of summer fruit, and put the big pots on to boil, and make me a schwack of my OWN canned peaches. And we'll see what happens when Mister Man wants ME to share........

Is it not truly sad to see our love ripped apart by canned fruit? My heart is weeping. (But Mister Man just went to bed out of it, so I may have to seize the moment and make my way to the jar of peaches in the fridge...)

(Also - might I point out that, while I LOOOOOOOOVE these canned peaches, I'm not a fan of the un-canned real McCoy? Nope. The fuzzy stuff makes my teeth recede RIGHT up into my head.... But without the nasty fuzzy stuff, these peaches are sunshine in a jar and on my tongue.)